


Checkers on a Chessboard

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Blood and Water [18]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: 'Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, "Do you ever take a moment and look up at the stars and think about your life and just how stupid you are?"'Rodney watches the tangled web of family and history close around Evan and John.





	

The FBI taking John and Evan and Ronon was beyond ridiculous. Woolsey had put in a call to the NID, to the Joint Chiefs, and to the director of the FBI, and so far what that had gotten them was a lot of _we need to verify that_ and _we’re doing our best_. As it turned out, Woolsey and Rodney were fast enough talkers between them that they managed to persuade their way into the building where John, Evan, and Ronon were being held.

Given that none of them had committed any crimes, that they were being held was insane. As it was Daniel and Evan who’d had conversations with those shady tattooed fellows in the parking lot of the restaurant, why the FBI had taken John and Ronon made zero sense, other than that they’d been in the same car as Evan and those shady tattooed fellows had followed them.

The head of the operation was Supervisory Special Agent Flanigan, which immediately sent up red flags in Rodney’s mind, because the Flanigans were the family Evan had once worked for, had run from. It was a common enough last name, but Rodney didn’t much believe in coincidences.

“Mr. Woolsey,” Agent Flanigan began, tone conciliatory and making the hair on Rodney’s neck stand up, “we cannot let you see Colonel Sheppard, Major Lorne, or Mr. Dex until we’ve finished questioning them. They are persons of interest on a very important investigation.”

“Not more important than what we’re dealing with,” Rodney snapped. “As I’m sure you’ve quickly figured out, the men you’ve illegally apprehended are integral to a highly-classified military operation that is vital to national security -”

“Dr. McKay,” Agent Flanigan said, and Rodney really, really wanted to punch his smarmy face, his high cheekbones, his stupid mustache. “This investigation has been ongoing, much longer than any of those men have been involved in your military operation, and it takes precedent.”

Fear coiled in Rodney’s gut. This was about John and Evan’s families, then. Ronon had gone with John to his father’s funeral, where family politics had been downright dangerous, so he’d been sucked in as well.

Woolsey looked thrown by that, but he recovered quickly. “Nevertheless, we need to ensure the integrity of our operation, and for that, each of those men need to be provided with counsel -”

“If they become arrestees they will be given public defenders -”

“Counsel with the appropriate clearance level,” Woolsey said firmly.

Agent Flanigan’s smile was wolfish. “We’ll handle it, Mr. Woolsey.”

“That’s Director Woolsey, actually.”

Rodney huffed. “Do you ever take a moment and look up at the stars and think about your life and just how stupid you are?” he demanded.

“Now, Dr. McKay,” Woolsey began.

Agent Flanigan rested his palms flat on the table, caught Rodney’s eye and held it. “I don’t think you appreciate just how much trouble your friends are in, Dr. McKay.”

“And I don’t think you appreciate just how much physical danger you and everyone on this damn planet is in if you don’t treat those men properly,” Rodney snarled back.

Agent Flanigan looked amused.

Woolsey said, “In the absence of counsel, Dr. McKay and I should be allowed to observe the questioning of our personnel to ensure no one is making improper inquiries about sensitive information.”

“Fine. This way.” Agent Flanigan led Rodney and Woolsey out of his office and down the hall to an interrogation room with one of those one-way mirrors. John was sitting in one chair, a table between him and a suit-clad agent with a bulging middle and a balding pate.

“Where were you when your father died?” the agent asked.

“I was on-base.”

“Where is your base?”

“That’s classified.”

“But you were at the funeral.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“People saw you at the funeral.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Colonel Sheppard, on the date of your father’s funeral, you were observed at his house.”

“I was at his house the day he was buried, but I wasn’t at the funeral.”

“Then why did you go to his house?”

“For the wake, Agent O’Banion. You’re Irish. You know how it is.”

O’Banion nodded. “Fair enough. Why didn’t you make it to the funeral?”

“By the time I received word of my father’s passing and arrangements were made for me to travel to Boston, I wasn’t going to be on time for the actual interment.”

“How long did your travel take?”

John blinked. “I honestly don’t remember.”

O’Banion was fishing for information about where John was posted. “While you were in Boston, did you speak to anyone from the Davytyan family?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Not that you’re aware of?”

“I’m not overly familiar with anyone in the Davytyan family. I interacted with some random strangers. If they were from the Davytyan family, I didn’t know it.”

“And if they recognized you?”

“I’ve been told my hair is distinctive.” John shrugged. He was playing at his usual levity and sarcasm, the kind that drove his superior officers insane, but Rodney could see the tension in his shoulders.

“Witnesses say you’re quite close with some members of the Davytyan family,” O’Banion said.

A door on the other side of the room opened, and another suit-clad man stepped into the room.

Recognition crossed John’s face. Who was he? Rodney didn’t recognize him. For all that he knew what John looked like naked, in the throes of orgasm, asleep, in battle, while eating, there was so much about the man Rodney didn’t know. It had never bothered him before. Now it scared him.

The new man settled against the door with a familiar slouch, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s a big country, Baby John. You’re a damn slippery eel, but I knew we’d find you eventually.”

Woolsey looked confused.

Rodney’s heart crawled into his throat. _Baby John._

“Imagine my surprise, when you surface with none other than Bluebell Davytyan. Did you recognize him, in that sexy little uniform? Or were you trying to turn over a new leaf, going with the safer, more respectable option? Because that mouthy Canadian scientist is awfully upset about you being arrested, has demanded very stridently that we give you back, and his demands ring with a desperation that goes beyond professional concern.”

Rodney glanced at Agent Flanigan. He was smirking. What could he possibly know?

Woolsey still looked confused.

“What I want to know,” the new man said, “is why you went talking to a city prosecutor right before you skipped town.”

John said, “I went to say hello to my ex-wife. We parted on generally amicable terms, and I respect her, and my father liked her, and I wanted to let her know in person.”

That threw Rodney. Ex-wife? Right. John had mentioned her once, but he hadn't said he'd seen her recently.

“That’s not what she says,” the other man said. “Or rather, that wasn’t how she reacted. She filed murder charges against Davey Boy. It was the final nail in the coffin. Now the Davytyans have overrun the city, and it’s all your fault. Our boys are being killed left and right. Did you never have any family loyalty, ever? What did we do to you, to make you betray us like that?”

John said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. After my father’s wake, I went back to my posting and got to work and received zero news about the family.” His expression was dangerously blank.

The family, he called it. Not _his_ family. Rodney hadn’t really thought through what it meant, that John and Evan had grown up in crime families.

“You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, haven’t you?” the strange man said. “First running off to college, then marrying Nancy O’Hara, then running off to the military and only swinging back home to deliver the final blow. It’s because of your mother, isn’t it?”

“What makes you say that? Because you know Patrick Sheppard had his wife murdered?” John asked, tone light, eyes dark with fury, mouth curved in that beautiful smirk.

“What makes you think that, Baby John? Something you saw when you were a kid?”

John tilted his head. He was still smirking, but his face was terribly pale. “Your own sister, Uncle Declan?”

Woolsey sucked in a sharp breath.

This wasn’t good, not good at all. Neither Agent O’Banion nor Agent Flanigan seemed to care that a member of John’s family, who were all criminals, was wandering around he FBI like he owned the place. Unless he was one of those confidential informants? Had turned state’s evidence? What could he possibly have against John, who’d never really been part of the family business? Other than that John was the oldest son and he’d run away and apparently he’d done something to damage his family’s power while he was on Earth for his father’s funeral.

“What about Major Lorne?” Woolsey asked.

Agent Flanigan’s smile was positively predatory. “I can take one of you to see him, if you like.”

Woolsey glanced at Rodney. “I’ll stay here with Colonel Sheppard. You check on Major Lorne.”

It made sense, from Woolsey’s perspective. Woolsey outranked Rodney, and John outranked Evan, so of course Rodney should be sent to check on Evan, but Rodney didn’t want to leave John.

On the other hand, who knew what was happening to Evan? Those two strange men had recognized him, been targeting him. Rodney nodded, and Agent Flanigan tapped his earpiece, spoke softly. Another suit-clad man - though Rodney didn’t trust that he was an actual FBI agent; he looked more like a common street thug in a cheap suit - appeared and led Rodney down the hall to a similar interrogation room.

Rodney and the neckless wonder stood in the observation room while Evan sat on the other side of the one-way mirror, opposite a woman in a dark suit. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyebrows were so arched Rodney thought they might fly off her face.

“Let’s start again. What’s your name?”

“Evan Lorne.”

“That’s not your legal name.”

“Yes, it is.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at her datapad. “Your name is Hovhannes Davytyan.”

“Not legally, no.”

“Your name change was illegal.”

“Tell that to the judge who granted it.” Evan’s tone was calm, his expression perfectly blank. Rodney had always hated that expression when he was on offworld missions with Evan. It was opaque and unreadable. Rodney had always assumed it was hiding disdain and irritation - and possibly something even more dangerous.

“If you just tell us where it is,” the woman said, “you can go free.”

Evan shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Bluebell. You don’t need it anymore. You’ve got a really cushy job, right? Major? Plus combat and hazard pay? Doing something super top-secret. They’re going to keep you till you die.”

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m entitled to a lawyer. And that you’re not a real FBI agent.”

Rodney glanced at the neckless wonder, who seemed unmoved by the accusation - if he was even listening. Did he understand English?

The woman laughed. “Well, if I weren’t a real FBI agent, who would I be?”

Again with that shrug. “I don’t know. Someone who overestimates her value in the universe, and also overestimates her own threat level, in the grand scheme of things.”

Pretty much everyone on Earth who wasn’t part of the Stargate Program overestimated their own threat level, as compared to the Goa’uld or Ori or Wraith or Vanir or whatever else was out there, waiting to rain hell down on humanity.

There was a knock on the door, and the woman rose up, admitted another suit-clad woman. This woman, though, was wearing an expensive dress suit, sensible flats, and real pearls. Her dark hair spilled loose around her shoulders.

Evan’s calm demeanor was shattered. “Nancy?”

The woman paused, studied him. Then she said, “Pardon?”

Evan’s voice shook. “What are you doing here? You got out. You - don’t tell me they got you back.”

The first woman craned her neck to peer at Nancy. “What’s he talking about?”

Nancy said, her voice too calm, “I have no idea, Agent Walsh.”

“But he knows your name.”

“He must have me mixed up with someone else.” Nancy flashed Evan a tight smile. “My name is Nancy Sheppard. I’m a prosecutor from Boston, assisting the FBI with their investigation.”

Rodney sucked in a breath. She was John’s ex-wife. How did Evan know her? He had been just as surprised as Rodney at John's disclosure that he had once been married.

Evan gazed at Nancy with wide eyes, betrayed. “We got out together. Why would you go back?”

Nancy shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’ve never met before.”

But Agent Walsh was eyeing her warily. “Nancy Sheppard?”

“I kept my ex-husband’s last name after we divorced. It really, really galled Patrick Sheppard.”

Walsh chuckled. “I’ll bet.”

Evan said, “You married into the Sheppard family? Not - David?”

“John, actually.”

Evan tilted his head. “He didn’t know who you were, did he? Other than from Boston.”

It was Nancy’s turn to eye Evan warily. “You talk like you know John Sheppard.”

Evan threw his head back and laughed, long and loud and a little unhinged. “Wow. You’re so in the dark, and you don’t even realize it. I’m Major Evan Lorne, and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard is my commanding officer.”

Agent Walsh looked back and forth between them, a referee who’d lost control of the game. “Nancy, what’s going on?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Nancy crossed her arms over her chest, defensive.

“What’s going on,” Evan said, “is that you two are playing a checkers game on a chessboard, and the queen is coming for you.”

Agent Walsh snorted, derisively amused. “What does that even mean?”

Evan was out of his seat in a flash, arms locked around Nancy’s throat. Agent Walsh rose up, drew her gun. The neckless wonder beside Rodney drew his gun as well.

“I can break her neck before you can fire,” Evan said. “And if you somehow manage to shoot me before I kill her, well, I’m dead, and you’ll never find it.”

Agent Walsh’s grip on her gun wasn’t wavering; she darted a glance at the window. “So you _do_ know where it is. How do you know I’m not alone?”

The neckless wonder cocking his pistol was like a whip cracking in the silence.

“What makes you think I’m alone?” Evan asked.

Nancy squirmed. “Please, Hovhan, no -”

“Oh, so now you know who I am?” Evan rolled his eyes. “Whatever tricks you think you have up your sleeve, I’m ready for them.”

Ready?

_Reddy._

“Evan,” Nancy tried.

He ducked his head and grinned at her, the expression downright sinister, and said, “Call me Bluebell.”

Agent Walsh’s hands twitched.

Rodney snapped a kick at the neckless wonder’s knee. He went down with a howl.

A gun went off.

Nancy screamed.

Evan was out the door, Nancy in tow.

“Run!” he shouted at Nancy, pushed her.

Rodney stumbled into the hallway after them. “How the hell did you know I was there?”

“Sometimes even I have to gamble,” Evan said. “Where’s Baby John?”

Rodney headed for the room where he’d left Woolsey and Agent Flanigan. It was empty.

Evan was holding a gun - Agent Walsh’s gun - and he cleared the rooms before they returned to the hallway.

Another door burst open. Rodney ducked behind Evan automatically, pulled Nancy with him.

It was Ronon, John, and Woolsey.

“Nancy,” John breathed, eyes wide.

“Baby John,” Evan said, and John’s attention snapped to him. “They were using her as a pawn. Playing both sides against the middle, as it were. She’s not safe.”

John nodded. “Right. Ronon, take Woolsey, Nancy, and Rodney. Evan and I have this.”

Ronon nodded. He grabbed Nancy’s wrist in one hand, Woolsey’s in the other, and headed for the stairwell. “C’mon, Rodney.”

“But John -”

“Go,” John said.

“Please,” Evan added.

Rodney hesitated.

Another door opened. Evan spun, opened fire. John shoved Rodney toward the stairwell with another shout of _go!_ , and more gunfire exploded behind Rodney, and they all ran.

Rodney didn’t dare look back, but he was sure he could hear laughter and men calling for Baby John and Bluebell.


End file.
